


the taste of a man's heart

by softestpunk



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Darkfic, M!Eivor - Freeform, M/M, Spoilers for the ending, canon-typical internal threats of violence, just a general "Basim is not a nice man", no specific warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: Basim sees the way Eivor looks at him, the curiosity burning in those clear blue eyes.He has use for Eivor's curiosity.
Relationships: Eivor/Basim Ibn Ishaq
Comments: 22
Kudos: 102





	the taste of a man's heart

Sigurd, Basim reflects, was easy. A whiff of power, the promise to a lost boy that he was special after all, that he could carve out a legacy for himself that his skalds would sing of in distant ages, that was enough to snare him tight.

Eivor is a different animal altogether. Smarter, more cunning than his brother, subtler too. He has his own spark of ambition, but it burns differently to Sigurd’s.

No, playing to his pride and desire for power is not the way to control Eivor. Playing to his curiosity, that is the way to catch him.

And Basim is curious as well. Has always been curious, about everything.

He spins a tale of a lost son as they recline side by side in the glow of the campfire, set apart from the others. None of what he says is untrue, but none of it quite true in the way Eivor must imagine it, either, though he listens with earnest sympathy. He has never lost a child himself, he cannot know the pain of it, but he _tries_.

He tries, and this is enough to make Basim hesitate. Only for a moment, until he catches that curiosity again in Eivor’s glance, the light of the fire painting his handsome face in gold, his eyes glistening with questions.

Now that he has had the idea, it is almost too simple.

A flash of satisfaction warms his blood as he imagines the look on Sigurd’s face when Basim tells him of the sounds his precious brother made in his arms, of how sweet he tasted, of how eager he was to lie with Sigurd’s great betrayer.

It will break Sigurd’s heart as Basim’s heart is broken.

It will break Sigurd when Basim takes his beloved brother, his closest kin from him as his own closest kin was taken.

And it will be all the worse for the trust in Eivor’s eyes before his blade strikes, and the surprise as the light fades from them.

But now the light is burning bright with possibility, and Basim smiles. A brush of his fingers against the back of Eivor’s hand, a subtle signal that their thoughts are aligned.

He has done worse than this on a whim, and Eivor is beautiful. It will be no hardship. The warmth of his body would have been tempting even if there was nothing to gain.

“Basim,” Eivor’s voice is heavy with want, though he would pride himself on being so subtle. To these idiot Saxons and his thick-skulled fellow Norsemen, perhaps he is.

But not to Basim, who can taste his speeding heartbeat like a snake tastes prey in the air.

Basim offers him a lopsided smile. He is handsome, and he knows it. Eivor is likely unused to refusal, but for Basim it is unheard of. He could have had Sigurd, if he could stomach the thought, but this is better.

“I wasn’t sure if—”

“Hush,” Basim murmurs, turning onto his side, reaching out until his fingers meet the coarseness of Eivor’s beard.

Eivor gasps into his mouth, pure innocent arousal with no resistance at all. Basim smiles a dangerous smile against his flesh and climbs on top of him.

He could take his heart now, take it to Sigurd and show him, tell him whose it is and let him feel the agony of loss as Basim felt it, has felt it for so long.

But no. No, Sigurd needs to _understand,_ and he does not understand yet.

So Basim presses his weight down on the most important thing in Sigurd’s world and feels it come alive under him, hot and eager.

Eivor thrills at this, fingers tangling in Basim’s hair, pulling tight, too tight in his eagerness. He kisses with his teeth and it is not hard to give back in kind, rough and needy, hands on buckles and catches as they free each other from armour and clothing just enough to feel the slide of skin against skin.

It is not artful, but Basim feels Eivor’s surprise and delight when he finds a body not unlike his own under Basim’s robes, and he drinks down Eivor’s laughter like water from the sweetest mountain spring.

This will not sate his curiosity, only pique it further.

His hands are clumsy but eager, he is no studied lover but for most he would make up for it with enthusiasm. He could be teased, Basim thinks, teased to the point of madness, and there would be pleasure in that, too.

Later. This will not be the last time, if he means to keep Eivor curious.

Instead he gives Eivor what he most wants, a taste of experience and novelty, precise touches that make his beautiful scarred body sing with gasps and moans, muscles taut and trembling, inching and inching toward the peak of his pleasure.

The way Eivor cries out would be enough of a prize alone, and Basim means to take this to his brother, who has never had what Basim has just taken, but always wanted it.

He grunts again as Basim spills on his belly, marking him out as his. A small claim that he will nurture and tend to until it eclipses Sigurd’s own.

Sigurd will die with a broken heart. Sigurd will know pain.

Eivor pulls Basim in for a last kiss, gentler now that his lust has been sated.

“You said a man’s tongue gives a taste of his heart,” Eivor murmurs as the kiss breaks, boneless and content. He is still pinned under Basim’s weight, but naive enough not to feel any danger in this.

“I did,” Basim agrees. Sigurd’s little poet enjoyed that turn of phrase—he is easily impressed by wit greater than his own.

“How does my heart taste?” Eivor asks, beautiful blue eyes still glowing with satisfaction, beaming up at Basim with renewed trust.

Good.

“Sweet,” Basim says, and it is true, Eivor’s heart has a sweetness to it that he has rarely seen before.

It will make it all the better when he eats it.


End file.
